


The Season For Dreaming

by Windybird



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Feminist Themes, Healthy Female Friendships, Multi, Musicals, Singing, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Burn, Teen Romance, singing lessons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:49:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windybird/pseuds/Windybird
Summary: Before I could push open the door and make a hasty-yet-graceful retreat into the girls’ bathroom, it suddenly flew open and I crashed into a living statue, almost falling on my ass if not for the fact that the statue threw its hands up to save me. I looked up, startled, to find myself staring into the eyes of the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my entire life, and almost fell all over again.“God,” the girl hissed, nose wrinkling in repulsion. “Could you watch where you’re going next time?”Bella Swan's just trying to get through senior year unscathed. Rosalie Hale and her eyes on the lead role of Spring Awakening seem to have different plans for her. Based loosely on Rise.





	1. as i cried out (like in latin) this is so not life at all

**Author's Note:**

> okay okay okay I know I should be working on finals but this is what happens when u cry too much on ur Spanish note cards and render it illegible so here u go

Since I was a kid, I’d had this theory that anybody who genuinely liked high school were going to spend the rest of their lives trying to recapture their glory days once more, whether it was playing football in the park every weekend because they played varsity football in junior year, or acting in small community plays that barely fifty people attended, because they were in play production as a freshman. I never understood those kinds of people- and probably never would, either-, because it only took standing in the Forks High School cafeteria for one minute before I dumped my tray of food in the trash and headed for the exit.

Jessica in gym class had invited me to sit with her and her friends, but the more I stood there- clutching at my tray and sweating like I was a freshman while everyone else swarmed around me-, the more I felt myself begin to panic, and the more I felt myself begin to panic, the more I thought about The Incident that happened last year, back home, and the more I thought about The Incident the more I began to panic- which brought me to my original point, that it was only people who didn’t overthink every little thing they ever did that were able to enjoy high school. And I, as it turned out, was not one of those people.

It wasn’t just this that brought me to my realization, though. I spent a little over an hour this morning debating on what to wear, before giving up and throwing on my regular jeans and blouse- and then instantly stopping in my tracks, feeling a little sick. Did people in small towns actually dress up for the first day of school? Or did they not care anymore, not seeing why they had to dress up for the same people they’d been going to school with since kindergarten? It wasn’t like I could’ve asked Charlie, who was just as clueless about fashion as I was. And that was the kicker- normally, I couldn’t care less about what I was going to wear, but it was as though since I’d arrived in Forks, I’d been thrown entirely off my game.

Not that I had any to begin with, mind you.

Before I could push open the door and make a hasty-yet-graceful retreat into the girls’ bathroom, it suddenly flew open and I crashed into a living statue, almost falling on my ass if not for the fact that the statue threw its’ hands up to save me. I looked up, startled, to find myself staring into the eyes of the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my entire life, and almost fell all over again.

“ _God,”_ the girl hissed, nose wrinkling in repulsion. “Could you watch where you’re going next time?”

Before I could even begin to stammer my apologies, another set of hands placed themselves on my shoulders. I flinched at the contact, before realizing that it was Jessica, of all people, who had rushed to my rescue.

“ _C’mon-Bella-time-to-leave,”_ she said in a rush, so fast I barely understood what she was saying, and then promptly dragged me to her table. I saw a few familiar faces- Angela Webber from trig, Mike from gym class, Lauren from Spanish, Erik from the newspaper-, but barely had time to say hello before Jessica wheeled on me, looking panicked.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, her voice high and reedy, “do you _know_ who you just bumped into?”

As she spoke, the cafeteria door I’d tried to make an exit from opened once more. In stepped four more beautiful creatures- a tawny-haired boy, a small, pixie-like girl, a tall upperclassman that looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and a boy whose shoulders were roughly three times the size of my own-, all looking as though they’d just stepped fresh out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

“The Cullens,” Jessica intoned in a low, reverent voice, as worshipful as though she’d been talking about mass on Sunday. “The girl you bumped into was Rosalie- those are her siblings- Edward, Alice, Jasper, and Emmett.”

“Okay, and…?” I asked, a little bewildered as to why she was telling me all this. To my left, Lauren rolled her eyes almost violently, looking utterly bored as she pulled her corn-silk blonde hair on either side of her shoulders.

“Oh my _god_ , Bella, didn’t you have a queen bee or something back in Arizona?”

“Um, not really- I mean, I always thought the queen bee was a misogynistic construct, meant to force girls on opposite sides for no reason other than drama value and to suppress the inherent wish to overcome societal misconceptions about what it’s like to be a teenage girl,” I said.

The table stared at me.

“My school was too big to have cliques,” I translated, and they suddenly nodded in understanding.

“Well, it’s not like they’re popular- too standoffish for that,” Lauren said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, though I could see the jealousy flashing in her eyes whenever she looked in the Cullens’ direction. “And if anyone’s the queen bee here, it’s me.”

“You wish,” Jessica snorted derisively. “But they’re hot, though, even if they are totally unfriendly. Don’t you think Edward’s cute?”

I thought about telling Jessica- sweet, small-minded Jessica, who I could tell even upon first meeting her was the type of person that believed a high school relationship could last through college- that I had recently discovered I was less predisposed to being interested in boys more than I was in girls, and firmly decided against it.

“Sure,” I offered instead, to appease her. From his perch on the table, Mike looked a little offended by my easy agreement.

“I mean, he’s not _that_ cute,” he protested. “Too perfect. His teeth are all white and straight, and he’s got to put at least seven different products in his hair-“

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Lauren whispered snidely, under her breath. Jessica tittered.

“Can we not talk about this anymore?” Mike asked, uneasy with the girls’ sudden focus on him. “Jesus, it’s like we talk about them _every_ day.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about the school play instead,” Erik jumped in, looking more animated than he had the entire lunch period. My ears perked up against my own will.

“You guys have a school play?” I asked quietly, trying hard to push down the memories of The Incident that were trying to submerge. Erik gave me a grin full of braces and pointed at a big, bright pink flyer posted on a nearby wall. On it featured the words _SPRING AWAKENING_ in big, bold black letters, and a sign-up sheet below it.

“I’m covering it for the school newspaper,” He said excitedly. “It’s literally the craziest play they could’ve picked. The parents are _so_ not going to be cool with it- it’s gonna be great!”

“I love that musical,” I blurted out without thinking, causing Lauren to give me a curious, analytical look from beside me.

“You should sign up, “ she said. I felt myself instantly tense up in response.

“I don’t do school plays,” I said shortly. This was evidently the wrong thing to say- her eyes became brighter as she slid closer to me on the bench, all traces of boredom suddenly gone from her face.

“Why not?” She asked. “You said yourself you liked the musical- what’s it called, Spring Awakening? You should go for it.”

“Lauren-“ Jessica began, sounding uncomfortable, but Lauren held her hand up to silence her. It was evident who really was the queen bee here, judging from the way Jessica’s jaw firmly snapped shut.

“You should go for it,” Lauren insisted, turning back to me. “Look, you need a fresh start. This is the perfect way to integrate yourself inside Forks- plus, colleges dig stuff like being part of school plays. Shows school spirit, and all that.”

“Why do you want me to sign up so bad?” I asked suspiciously, sensing an ulterior motive in there somewhere. Before she could respond, Angela jumped in, seemingly unafraid of the sudden quailing look Lauren threw her way.

“The Cullens act in the plays every year,” she explained. “Rosalie’s almost always the lead, but the others are usually the main characters, too.”

“Which is why Bella should change that!” Lauren said, though she sounded less eager as she did before- most likely, she was hoping I’d approach the sign-up sheet only to discover Rosalie’s name in neat, cursive handwriting- probably with a heart over the i-, and feel pressured into signing my name instead of making the long and shameful trek back to the lunch table. “It’s not fair that they’re always taking the roles away from everyone else. Think about all the freshmen out there who just want to start off their high school careers playing their favorite character in Wicked, or whatever.”

Before I could even begin to respond to that, the bell suddenly ringed. Thankful, I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms across my jeans and shouldered my backpack, eager to escape from Lauren’s- and the other’s- attention, if only for the rest of the day.

To my surprise- and, if I was being truthful to myself, not a little horror-, Rosalie Cullen ended up being in my sixth period class, AP Literature. To make matters even more complicated, she ended up being my desk partner, as apparently God was conspiring against me and had filled up every other seat in the class. I barely breathed a word to her the entire time, too scared to even look at her directly- but I felt her presence acutely at my side, saw the long blonde hair falling over her shoulder in my peripheral vision, the graceful curves of her neck, her collarbones-

“Ms. Swan, can you tell me your answer for number 10 on the pop quiz?”

_No, I can’t,_ I wanted to reply, _I spent the past ten minutes trying to catch glimpses of Rosalie Cullen in the corner of my eye and was barely paying attention to the pop quiz anyway, since I think it’s bullshit that I had to take it with what limited knowledge I had about the difference between synecdoche and metonymy, sorry!_

“Onomatopoeia,” I said instead, discreetly peeking at the paper of the boy sitting across from me. The teacher- Mrs. Brown- beamed at me from across the room.

“Excellent,” she said, and moved onto the next poor, unsuspecting student. I shifted in my seat- and instantly paused, sensing Rosalie stiffening beside me as our legs accidentally brushed together underneath the table.

“Sorry,” I muttered, feeling a tight ball of anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach as I jerked my leg away. Throughout the entire class period, I could feel her gaze boring into the side of my head, so intensely that I thought she must’ve been trying to form a hole through there. I had no idea what I’d done to cause her to act that way towards me- the little incident in the cafeteria notwithstanding-, but I was too much of a coward to confront her headlong and simply ask what her problem was with me. In fact, just thinking about her response in that scenario caused the ball of anxiety in my stomach to grow and tighten.

“Whatever,” she muttered back, sounding frosty and uncaring. I flinched away, wishing not for the first time that I was back in Phoenix, back in a high school that had more people than the entirety of Forks, back somewhere I could disappear into the walls as easily as anything. Of course, that had changed entirely after The Incident, but the years before were simple and uncomplicated, entirely devoid of the drama and chaos my high school career would eventually descend into.

“Ms. Brown?” I asked, raising my hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Take the pass.”

“Okay,” I said, took the pass, and then made a beeline to my counselor’s office. At the front desk was a middle-aged woman with dyed red hair, clacking away at her ancient behemoth of a computer.

“Can I help you, dear?” She asked, not bothering to look up from the screen.

“Is Ms. Lopez in?”

“ _LAURA_!” The receptionist roared from over her shoulder, still not taking her eyes away from the computer. There was a responding, unintelligible yell from one of the closed doors, before my counselor emerged, looking slightly frazzled.

“Ah, Bella!” She said in surprise. “Come in, come in. What can I do ya for?”

“I’d like to change my sixth period,” I told her, taking a seat in an armchair chair that looked older than my father.

“AP English, yes?” Ms. Lopez asked, typing something onto her keyboard. “May I ask the reason for this change?”

“I’d like to switch teachers.”

Ms. Lopez made a sympathetic sound in response. “We don’t switch teachers for the same class, hon. Now, if you wanted to switch down to a lower level-“

“I’m fine with the level I am now,” I said, trying to keep myself from growing more anxious than I already was. “I’d just like to switch teachers. Or periods.”

“We don’t move around periods, either, unless it’s for special cases, like if you’re in a sport and there’s a conflicting class- but I see you’re in regular gym… I’m not really sure if there’s anything I can do for you, Bella. Was there any particular reason why you wanted to switch out?”

“No,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest and trying hard not to look petulant. “No, it’s alright. Thanks anyway.”

“My pleasure. Oh, and Bella?”

“Yeah?” I asked, pausing as I shouldered my backpack.

“You should really think about trying up for the school play. ‘Spring Awakening.’ It’s gonna be _lit.”_

I winced, so violently I nearly whacked the stapler off Ms. Lopez’s table. “Thanks, Ms. Lopez. I’ll think about it.”

And, I mused as I started the long trek back to class, I really _was_ thinking about it. I knew it was a terrible idea- Charlie, it seemed, didn’t care much about school or any extracurricular I might’ve wanted to do, but if my mother caught word that I was thinking about going into a school play after The Incident- especially _this_ play, about breaking taboos and defying conventionality…

_Why should you have to suffer because your mom can’t cope with the fact that there are girls out there who like other girls?_ A tiny voice in the back of my head asked bitterly. And though I tried to push it away, the thought kept coming back. It was a good question- why did I have to suffer because my mom, well-meaning as she was, endearing and kind and maternal as she was, she was under the impression that lesbianism was somehow worse than being gay? There were thousands of other middle-aged women in Arizona- in the entire country- who shared the same sentiment, the same double-standard.

But that was edging too close to The Incident, and I didn’t want to think about that now, especially as I was sliding back into my seat beside Rosalie. So instead, I focused on catching up with annotations for Jane Eyre for the rest of the period, and if I did end up walking back to the cafeteria after school, and finding the sign-up sheet posted on the board, and putting my name underneath Rosalie’s, who did not, in fact, put a heart over the i, well, that didn’t mean I was looking for trouble. It just meant that I wasn’t going to let anyone else’s reaction keep me from doing what I wanted to do. Especially the reaction of a woman that was over a thousand miles away, probably taking the opportunity of my finally being gone after seventeen years to screw my stepdad like bunnies, without a care in the world of what I was planning on doing or not doing. Or so I hoped.

 

* * *

 

“Thanks for coming with me, Angela,” I said earnestly as we made our way down the hallway. Yesterday passed by without too much fanfare, but I wasn’t sure if the same could be said of today. Auditions were supposed to be held in the theater at lunch, and even as I was walking past the cafeteria I couldn’t quite believe I was missing out on macaroni ‘n cheese Thursday to one-up a girl who, from what I’d learned of her, was seemingly impossible to beat in any skill.

Angela, thankfully, had volunteered to miss lunch as well to provide emotional support for me after Rosalie Cullen- or, as I later found out from Jessica, _Hale_ \- would throw me in the proverbial mud and leave me for dead. She adjusted her glasses and gave me a bright smile as we maneuvered past a group of freshmen walking down the opposite side of the hallway.

“It’s no trouble, really,” she insisted. “And between you and me, I’d love to see someone else get the lead role aside from Rosalie this year. Not a lot of people are even auditioning for Wendla by this point, since the competition has been so lax for the past three years.”

“Well, I’ll try to raise the ante,” I said, albeit dubiously. Angela laughed a little at the look on my face.

“Sorry- I don’t want to scare you or anything, Bella. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

_I’m glad one of us thinks so,_ I thought to myself. Instead of saying so, though, I returned Angela’s smile and opened the door to the theater. Inside was a large room, decorated in posters from Broadway musicals and knock-off Broadway musicals. A mixed group of sophomores, juniors, and seniors sat in the chairs at the center of the room, facing a stage on which Rosalie Hale was standing in all her six-foot statuesque glory, sustaining a pitch I could never possibly hope to achieve.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, feeling slightly overwhelmed. She was hitting every single note of _Totally Fucked_ so harmonically that I felt- pardon the pun- totally fucked the second my butt hit the seat next to a sophomore girl who looked almost as nervous as I felt.

“Oh, god, I should’ve tried out for Martha,” she muttered under her breath. I ignored her in favor of gawking at Rosalie, who in that moment didn’t seem quite real to me. The lights were hitting her in such a way that her skin turned almost as golden as her hair, which was cascading down her shoulders in beach waves that would’ve probably taken me at least three hours to try and achieve on my own hair.

It was at that moment, exchanging semi-impressed, semi-horrified glances with Angela beside me, that I realized I was actually going to try and go up against that unearthly thing on stage who’d been holding the last note for at least more than fifteen seconds. Before I could make hasty apologies to Angela for dragging her away from macaroni ‘n cheese Thursday and race to the bathroom to puke from nerves, the drama teacher called out any last takers for the role of Wendla to the stage. I sat in my seat, frozen, until Angela had to gently grab my elbow and jostle me to my feet.

“You got this,” she mouthed, giving me a big thumbs-up as I scampered my way onto the stage with my tail in between my legs. I opened my mouth to give the teacher my name when, to my sudden horror, I realized that Rosalie wasn’t the only Cullen (or Hale, but you know what I mean) present in the theater. In the four seats beside her, in the way back, were the rest of her sibling entourage, looking as beautiful and put-together as though they’d just came back from shooting a commercial for Gucci. Or a music video. Or both.

“Well, dear?” The drama teacher asked impatiently as I stood up there, mouth gaping slightly, palms sweating like crazy from where they were balled up inside my pockets. I removed them and forced myself to relax, catching Angela’s eye in the small crowd before turning to the teacher.

“Bella,” I heard myself say, distantly. “Bella Swan. For the role of Wendla.”

“Song, please.”

_Oh, shit._ I probably should’ve thought that out before I clambered on stage. “Um _\- Mama Who Bore Me,_ thanks.”

My mind went blank the second the opening notes played.

That isn’t to say I forgot the lyrics, because I didn’t. I spend the better part of my freshman year memorizing everything Lea Michele ever played in, after all. But though I felt my lips part, arms drifting to my sides, shoulders relaxing, sound coming out of my mouth, I didn’t remember any of it. Nothing but Rosalie, sitting there in the back surrounded by her almost unbearably beautiful siblings, looking unbearably beautiful herself as she glared daggers at me.

The expression on her face was the only thing I retained as I stumbled off the stage and into my seat beside Angela, who was staring at me with a wide-eyed expression on her face. Concerned, I opened my mouth to ask her how I did, but she cut me short.

“Bella,” she asked, “do you do weddings and quincineras, too?”

“ _What_?”

“You were _seriously_ good. Like, a professional singer. Did you take lessons somewhere?”

“Wait, so- I didn’t do bad?”

“Judging from the way Rosalie’s head is about to blow off her shoulders,” Angela said in a low voice, “I’d assume so.”

And sure enough, one glance over my shoulder revealed a pissed-off Rosalie, staring at me with the type of look on her face one would reserve for axe murderers and criminals. I shuddered slightly and shrank down in my seat, feeling slightly nauseous.

“Angela?” I asked in a small voice.

“Yes, Bella?”

“When was the last time someone got a role that Rosalie was trying out for?”

“Um- I guess that’d have to be now, actually. Like I said, nobody’s ever really tried to compete against Rosalie before- not that you’re _competing_ against Rosalie, or whatever, but-“

“Wait, wait, wait. So you’re telling me that I’m the first person to even try to take the role away from her?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Angela agreed, her voice turning tremulous when she, too, peeked over her shoulder and realized the beyond conventionally attractive cheerleader from hell was looking in our direction. “Should I start planning your funeral now?”

“I’ll send you my will.”


	2. almost like lovin' (sad as that is)

“Look on the bright side,” Angela said, rubbing comforting circles on my back. “At least you’ll die quickly. Rosalie doesn’t seem like the type to prolong a murder, I think.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Are you kidding? She’s _exactly_ the type to prolong a murder. She’s probably going to string me upside-down with rope and see how long it takes for the blood to reach my head.”

“True,” Angela conceded after a while, looking guilty-faced. “I mean, if it’s any consolation, that isn’t the worst way to die.”

I put my face back in my hands, groaning.

A few days after the debacle in the theater, the results were posted on the door of the theater: I got the role of Wendla, while Rosalie got the role of my _mother_ , Frau Bergmann, which sent me straight to the bathroom to hyperventilate into a paper bag. Angela and I decided to meet up on the front steps of the school to discuss my options. I proposed I fake my own death and move back to Arizona, before I realized that I’d rather have Rosalie strangle me herself than have to trudge back home, with my mom and her “helpful” attempts at hooking me up with her friends’ sons. Angela suggested that I try to avoid her as much as possible, but I had her sixth period and couldn’t escape, so that was a bust, too. I felt her glaring at me even harder than usual during English yesterday, and just the weight of her eyes on my face was enough to make me hide out in the bathroom for the rest of the period.

“I’m too young to die,” I said, my voice muffled by my palms. “I haven’t even gone on a wacky road trip with 80s synth-pop playing in the background yet. I’ve done basically _nothing_ with my life, and now it’s going to be ended by a girl whose interactions with me have consisted so far of growling sounds and eye rolls.”

“Uh, Bella-“

“And, it’s like, I don’t even know why she hates me!” I cried, eyes screwing shut as I gripped at my hair in frustration. “I’ve done _nothing_ to her! Am I supposed to say sorry for wanting to do something fun and exciting in my last year of high school, for the first time in my life?”

“ _Bella_ -“

“Like, okay, Rosalie, sorry that you’re a caricature of Sharpay from High School Musical- if it’s any consolation, I never wanted to be Gabriella, so I guess we both got screwed over!” I finished, panting hard by the end of my rant, and opened my eyes. That, as it turned out, was a mistake, because standing right in front of us was Rosalie.

Of course. Of course it was. I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat as I looked up at her.

“Rosalie,” I said weakly. “Hi.”

Angela said nothing, save a slight whimper in the back of her throat. Rosalie’s face was like stone, which was scarier than if she was obviously angry and was raising her fist to plow into my face.

“Hi,” she said, her voice clipped. “Can we talk? _Alone_?”

Angela and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. I tried to convey to her with expression alone not to leave me, but she was slowly nodding and inching away despite my furious eyebrow-waggles to get her to stay.

It was too late now. Rosalie took Angela’s seat on the step beside me, and I stilled immediately, trying to calm my frantic heartbeat. By this point, Angela was doing a frantic speed-walk across the parking lot, looking like a soccer mom on Black Friday. I watched her receding back until it was completely out of sight, feeling very much betrayed.

“Bella,” Rosalie said, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. She was so close, I could see each long, lush eyelash, the miniscule, barely-there pores on her face. She made me feel like the ugliest girl on the planet. “I wanted to talk to you about the musical.”

“What about it?” I asked guardedly, leaning a little away from her. She responded by scooting closer, and I vaguely felt my heart try to leap out of my chest.

“I’ve…” she sighed. “I’ve been acting like a bitch. I’m sorry.”

I blinked. Whatever I was expecting, that was _not_ it.

“You… huh?” I asked dumbly. A half-smile tugged at her lips.

“I know you heard me the first time,” she said, and though I was pretty sure it was just the impending heart attack talking, I swore I could hear a trace of playfulness in her voice. I stared at her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to give you lessons,” she smiled.

 I couldn’t speak for a solid minute or two. When I finally found the words, I asked, “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not meant as an insult or anything,” Rosalie said quickly, her perfect brow furrowing. Then, a little more slowly, as if each word pained her, she added, “Honestly, you’re pretty good. Not as good as me, obviously, but pretty good nonetheless. Still, you could be better. You might even be great- _if_ you had training.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, not daring to believe it. First she was planning my imminent murder- or looking like she'd like to, anyways-, and now she was offering me one-on-one voice lessons? I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I was looking the fuck out of that gift horse in the mouth. It seemed way too good to be true. “And you can give it to me?”

The smile was fully formed now. “I took singing lessons when I was a kid- along with classical dance, piano, violin-“

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, though I was still barely wrapping my mind about everything. “And you… you aren’t angry that I got the part?”

The smile faltered for such a brief second, I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things or not.

“Not at all,” she said, brightly enough. “Look, I got the main role for the past three years. And anyway, like you said, I should let somebody have a fun and exciting time for once in their high school careers.”

Her voice took on a hard edge, and I flushed so hard it made me a little light-headed.

“Sorry about that,” I said, not daring to look her in the eyes. “I- I honestly didn’t know you were listening to me. For the record, you’re way prettier than Sharpay.”

Her eyes widened, and it was only after a beat or two that I realized what I said. Clapping my hands over my mouth, I was about to send a flurry of fearful apologies her way, when she tilted her head and gave me a considering look.

“I know,” she said simply. Looking a little hesitant- for her, anyway-, she added, “I suppose you’re a ring or two above Vanessa Hudgens, if we’re going to be exchanging mindless compliments.”

Before I could even begin to respond to this, she got up from the step, forcing me to crane my neck to look at her.

“Voice lessons are a big commitment,” she told me warningly, hands on her hips. I tried not to cringe away from her. “I’m going to need you at my house after every single rehearsal, and I want you to tell me now whether you think you can handle it or not. Because if you don’t, I can just rescind my offer and let you blubber all over that stage with no prepara-“

“No!” I blurted out, standing up so quickly that I nearly fell backwards. Rosalie’s hands instantly encircled my forearms, balancing me before quickly stepping back, her nostrils flaring like she was smelling something pungent. Wincing, I said in a quieter voice, “No, I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Good. Give me your number- I’ll text you my address.”

I fumbled with my phone. Mom insisted buying me the newest 2005 Razor right after I came back from the hospital, no doubt filled with guilt after The Incident, but I hadn’t had any chance to use it until now. Rosalie’s manicured fingernails tapped on the keyboard so quickly, I could barely make out the individual letters and numbers until she handed it back to me. I grabbed it without looking down, eyes still glued on her face. 

“Shouldn’t you also give me your-“

“No,” she said, already turning away from me. “I’ll text you.”

She was halfway down to the parking lot before I called her name. Nose wrinkling in suspicion, she looked up at me on the staircase.

“Thanks,” I finally said, feeling like the lamest human alive even as the word came out of my mouth. To her credit, she didn’t say anything back- just gave me a confused half-nod, before continuing her walk back to her car. I watched her go, clutching the phone in my hand so tightly my knuckles were screaming red when I finally looked down.


End file.
